


they're different alone

by papenathy



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Don't hate me for this, I don't know what to say for myself, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, i put major character death just bc... u know, just.. consider it, richard's point of view, this is my first tsh fic pls be nice thnx
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 19:22:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20551403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papenathy/pseuds/papenathy
Summary: “What happened at Henry’s, Bunny?”He slowly dragged the pills off of the table surface and threw them into his right hand and then into his mouth, swallowing the bunch of them without water. “I don’t know what makes you think anything happened, Richard.”





	they're different alone

During my time at Hampden, neither Henry nor Bunny had said much about their time living together during freshman year. Not that I was in any state of desperation to know, but thinking about it now, I realise that the two of them avoided the topic any time it came up over dinner, at Francis’s, or even before class was about to begin. Changing the subject of conversation swiftly like it was a reaction they had both planned in advance and even occasionally sharing a look as if one wrong word said could completely compromise some bigger, darker secret that— to this day, I don’t even believe any of the others knew. I am only sure of what I believe I know because of a conversation I had with Bunny in mid March, not long before he died. 

Anyone who knew Bunny was aware that he had no issue with sharing most aspects of his life, so it was natural for one to wonder why he made such an effort to metaphysically erase a whole year of it as if he didn’t want to waste a second remembering. There were things I did hear about the year prior to arriving at Hampden, but they were only vague and seemed very much like pieces of the whole truth. I must remind you, I wasn’t fueled by any sense of curiosity, but now I see how strange it was that Bunny Corcoran— one of the most loud mouthed, oversharing people I have ever met in my lifetime, had chosen to hide something without some larger reason. 

And, dare I say, what else could that be other than Henry Winter himself? 

Back to March, I remember it was the thirteenth because it was the date Henry had made us all— excluding Bunny, of course— a reservation at a new restaurant in the city; and I still have the receipt. Henry had asked me to dispose of it afterwards, he had paid and didn’t want to have any record of it, he didn’t like to keep receipts. But I put it in the top pocket of my suit jacket when he wasn’t looking as if it were a souvenir, mostly because of the conversation I’d had with Bunny that day, I wanted to remember it, but also the way Henry was avoiding my gaze during the entirety of dinner like he had been eavesdropping on that very conversation. Perhaps he had, he walked into the kitchen moments after. I wouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised. 

I’m writing this now because I found the jacket I was wearing that day in the back of my closet. I hadn’t worn nor washed it since then, and the small slip of paper was still inside. It was a jacket of Francis’s, of course, I didn’t have the heart to get rid of it even though it no longer fit me, but when I reached in the pocket this morning and saw the date printed at the top of it, I decided I had to recollect that day as much as I could. It adds a deeper sense to the individual, and combined stories of my old friends, Henry and Bunny.

I am the only one alive who knows this. Since they are both long gone, I feel it is my duty to put everything into perspective— even if no one ever reads it. 

I don’t believe anyone ever will, actually. 

It was a particularly ordinary morning and I was making my second cup of coffee having gone to sleep rather late the night before, my tired eyes forced open over a translation I had to complete for class that I couldn’t get my head around. I realised, of course, that I had abandoned the homework in my sleep as I awoke with my book laying open on my chest and my papers unfinished. Class didn’t start until midday, and I had been trying desperately to get it finished in time but I just could not do it. I considered going to ask Henry, but decided against it— for some reason I thought it would be better to just leave it incomplete, or at least try and organise the mess of it before class.

The rising sun was creating a strip of light through the small window that was placed above the sink, and I could see small dust particles dancing around in it, thinking I ought to give the place a clean myself. Multiple coffee cups were left scattered about, about an inch of cold liquid inside, abandoned by other careless students who happened to reside on the same floor as me. No one was in there at this time, I liked to be there early before anyone else woke up and watch the sunrise and pray it would melt the snow a little; at first it was magical, by then I was just bored of it. I leant against the counter, the warm cup of coffee gripped firmly in my hands— it burnt a little, but I let it. It was keeping me awake. 

That was when Bunny entered the room, looking disheveled and borderline disorientated but trying his best to appear as put together as everyone else was used to. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, and the top two buttons of his creased white shirt were undone. His hair was unsettled as if he had raked his fingers through it far too much, and he wasn’t wearing any shoes. Just a pair of socks that didn’t match. He stopped in the doorway and leant against the frame like he needed it for support, and stared at me through his glasses like he couldn’t remember who I was. 

“You okay there, Bun?” I asked, slightly taken aback by his unexpected appearance. He was usually one to sleep in, always one of the last to show up to class. 

He appeared mildly panicked, and tried to hold back a yawn. “Richard, old man.” He cleared his throat when his voice came out scratchy. “I’m doing just— just fine. Yes… splendid morning, isn’t it? Say, could you make me a coffee? I’m afraid my head may explode.” 

I looked at him with concern for a long moment, hoping he couldn’t smell it on me— because, surprisingly, he did an excellent job at reading people and sometimes the way he saw right through my lies terrified me so much I tried to avoid conversation with him at all costs. So, I silently made him a coffee and set it on the table in front of him, but he didn’t look up to acknowledge it. His fingers were half wound into his dark blonde hair and his elbows were resting on the tabletop, he didn’t say a word.

“Do you need an aspirin, or something?” I suggested, figuring he had some sort of hangover and had just returned from some random girl’s dorm where he had spent the night— it was obvious, really, considering his appearance. He even had a few deep purple marks on his neck. I didn’t want to point them out.

“No,” He was speaking automatically, and even though I didn’t ask, he said: “I just came from Henry’s.” 

His skin, I noticed, was ghostly pale where it had usually been rosy cheeked and almost tanned. He looked like he was about to be sick, and I almost ran to get him a bucket so he wouldn’t spill the contents of his stomach all over the breakfast table. From  _ Henry’s?  _ Did they have an argument? If that were the case, it didn’t seem right. Bunny and Henry argued frequently, and neither of them had seemed this physically bothered by them afterwards. Clearly, it was something else. What exactly that was, I couldn’t for the life of me figure it out. 

“Henry’s? Really?”

“Yes.” His reply was short and fast, almost angry. 

I pulled back the chair that was opposite him and sat down, and paused for a few moments waiting to see if he was going to elaborate. After a while it was clear he wasn’t planning on it, and it surprised me. For Bunny, especially. “What were you doing at Henry’s?”

“I—” He started. I had never seen Bunny be at a loss for words before. “Actually, do you have that aspirin? I think I may need it.”

I pulled some out of the pocket of my trousers, having shoved them there after I took a few when I woke up with an awful headache only about an hour before; I pushed them towards him. “What happened at Henry’s, Bunny?” 

He slowly dragged the pills off of the table surface and threw them into his right hand and then into his mouth, swallowing the bunch of them without water. “I don’t know what makes you think anything happened, Richard.” 

“You don’t seem yourself,” I pointed out. “I hate to pry, I just want to know if you’re alright, that’s all.” 

“I’m fucking  _ fine,  _ Richard. Okay? Is that what you want me to say?” His tone was sharp, and it almost brought my headache right back from where I had gotten rid of it. “Henry just—” He looked like he was trying to explain something complicated without making it seem worse than it actually was. “Doesn’t matter. Forget it.” 

It was unlike Bunny to push something aside so quickly. I couldn’t just  _ forget it.  _ “Did he hurt you or something?”

“No,” Bunny sighed, sliding his fingers through the handle of the coffee cup and gripping it tight. He didn’t drink from it yet. “He didn’t hurt me. I think I actually hurt myself. I don’t know, Richard. It’s all so confusing and messing with my head and I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, really, I didn’t. And— it’s not the first time. No, it’s really not. During freshman year we were— yes, we were always close, he and I, but good lord I am not— not one of  _ those  _ types but Henry always manages to…” He sat up and threw himself back in his chair, still avoiding making eye contact with me. “Do you have anything to eat?”

“Bunny.” I said sternly. He kept changing the subject. 

“What? I could really use a bite to eat, Richard. Do check the refrigerator for me, I’ll take anything. I’m starving.” He was looking out the window. I was starting to piece everything together. I didn’t know if I was surprised. 

I dragged myself over to the communal refrigerator and pulled out someone else’s butter, and put it on a few slices of bread before bringing the plate back over to Bunny who was rapidly bouncing his right leg up and down. He didn’t touch the plate or the food. “Always manages to  _ what,  _ Bunny?” I asked, wondering if i could get more information out of him. 

“You know,” He started. “I say a lot of shit, Richard. It all just tumbles out of my mouth before I even have a goddamn chance to think about it. It annoys even  _ me,  _ sometimes. Don’t look at me like that, it really does. I’m not joking around. I feel particularly regretful about what I say to Francis, you know? About the whole…” He made some unreadable gestures with his hands. It was like he couldn’t bear to say it for what it actually was. “Because I realise, now, that it’s rather hypocritical for me to say. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It’s been a long night.”

There were footsteps in the hallway outside, a group of people walking by. “I don’t understand.”

“Gosh, nor do I.” He sighed. “I just— Richard, you mustn’t tell a soul or I swear I will—”

He hadn’t explicitly  _ told  _ me anything.

“What happened?”

He almost looked as if he were about to cry. “He was so sweet to me,” He swallowed harshly even though he hadn’t consumed any of the food or drink he’d asked me to put in front of him. “It was just like freshman year again. I missed him. We didn’t mean for anything to happen it just  _ did  _ happen like it used to and I just can’t bear it.” By this point, it was rather easy for me to understand what he was suggesting. “None of you know Henry like I do. He’s different when it’s just him and I, less stiff and more relaxed, you know? Like he’s got no one to impress. It’s just me. Just his old friend Bunny.”

“Are you implying that the two of you—”

“Don’t.” He looked at me, almost pleading me not to say what I was about to say, as if it had all been some sort of hazy dream for him— and someone else saying it could force him to face reality. “It’s not— we aren’t—” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s nothing, really. Okay? These things… These things happen, surely? I mean, god, it’s not like I’m in  _ love.  _ It’s different. I think we were both deprived of affection and that’s why it happened. No strings attached kinda thing, you know? There are perfectly plausible explanations for these things.” 

I looked at him for a long moment, not quite believing what I was hearing. Bunny liked to make up or exaggerate a lot of things, but something like this? Not in a lifetime or even a million years. He was clearly in an emotional state over what he claimed to have happened, which I deduced must certainly be true— it was clear he regretted it bitterly and he was upset for obvious reasons, but there was something more to it. Brushing it off like it was nothing was something I was far too familiar with, because I have done so frequently during my lifetime. He didn’t want to admit what he was feeling, so he buried it in hatred and disgust, and found supposed explanations that didn’t really exist and put them into sentences that didn’t really make sense. 

I couldn’t think of what else to say to him, other than: “Are you sure?”

“What?” He looked at me with a panicked expression, most likely wondering why I was acting so calm and unsurprised at his words. 

“That you’re not—” I started, unsure if I should finish. I did anyway. “In love.” 

He took a swig of his coffee, leg still bouncing rapidly up and down, and a droplet of liquid slid down his chin after narrowly missing the corner of his mouth— he almost slammed the mug onto the table, and swiped his thumb across the droplet of his drink that had been left on his skin to get rid of it. “Do you think I’ve lost my mind?” 

“No.”

“Then,  _ no _ .” He crossed his arms over his chest, almost in defence. “I am most certainly not in love with Henry Winter.” 

Looking back I realise how much of a lie this was, yet I failed to see it at the time. There was a silence between us and it felt as though the entire universe went quiet. I could only hear my own blood rushing through my ears, the rhythmic ticks coming from the old clock that hung like a watchful figure above the door, and the droplets of water hitting the bottom of the sink as the faucet had been in need of fixing for a very long while by that point. I wondered, at that moment, what Bunny could hear. I wondered if he could hear what I was hearing, maybe with the addition of the rapid beats of his own heart. 

I didn’t know what to think. I had wondered, immediately, what Henry would say about it. Would he be ashamed, regretful? Would he act like nothing had happened between them and just move on with his day? I knew, at this point in time, what Henry was considering to do about the whole situation with Bunny and the  _ other  _ murder. Knowing this, it makes what happened to Bunny a mere few weeks later all the more tragic, and it’s rather sad, really, that I am the only one alive to see this tragedy for what it really is. 

The sad truth, indeed, is that Bunny Corcoran was afraid of loving Henry Winter. It was what I believed to be true, anyway, because unfortunately I know what it’s like to be afraid to love someone. 

Of course, Henry’s feelings on the matter appeared to be quite plain considering what he ended up doing those weeks later, yet when I look back I manage to gather moments where he would stop and really consider what he was doing. They’d be subtle, but I would see him almost shed a tear in private or pinch his nose under his glasses in frustration, and you might assume this was just from the general stress of planning a murder— but then he would look at me. He would look at me because he knew what I knew, and he hated that I knew. I would look at him, almost asking;  _ he loves you, Henry, how could you possibly want to go through with this?  _

He would only look away. 

To this day, I can’t shake the look he gave me as he walked by me at the funeral, his share of the weight of the coffin on his shoulder, his old roommate’s dead body inside— and although he didn’t show it, I knew he was sadder than the lot of them put together. Henry’s facial expressions were always immensely difficult to read and yet at that one glance at his eyes I could see regret, guilt and mourning. I could see a child who had lost his best friend in the woods whilst they were playing hide and seek. I could see a soldier who never managed to mentally return from war and would spend the rest of his life having nightmares about the people he had killed. I could see Henry Winter for who he really was in that moment, and I don’t think I will ever be able to forget it— it will be the last thing I think about before I fall asleep every night for the rest of my jaded existence. 

“What about him?” I had asked. Bunny still looked like he was going to be sick.

“Hmm?” He responded tiredly.

“Do you think he’s in love with you?” 

Bunny rose an eyebrow and almost laughed. “Don’t be absurd, Richard. I don’t think Henry has ever loved anyone in his life, and if he has; I most certainly can’t imagine that it would be me.” He finished the rest of his coffee, and pulled the plate of bread towards him. He still didn’t eat any of it. 

“Did you argue afterwards? Is that why you’re upset?” 

“I’m not upset.” He said defensively. “I was drunk, okay? We both were. That’s why I feel fucking  _ awful  _ right now.” 

I still don’t understand why he hadn’t told me this fact sooner— that’s if it even was a fact. 

“Are you ashamed? I know how you feel about—” 

“Richard, I do wish you wouldn’t ask me so many questions.” He dropped his head in his hands. I couldn’t help but ask questions. It was honestly starting to feel like it was all I ever did anymore. “As I said, it’s all talk. It’s all fucking talk. I don’t know how I feel about anything anymore.” 

“Bunny—” I started. “Don’t you think the two of you should talk about it?”

“What is there to talk about?” He mumbled, still keeping his gaze fixed on the wooden tabletop. “It would only make things worse than they already are and I don’t think I can bear it. I think it would kill me.” 

_ I think it would kill me. _

“How could it possibly make things worse?”

“Henry doesn’t  _ talk _ about things like this and neither did I before you started asking me so many fucking questions.” He whipped his head up, his voice raised so much that anyone passing by could hear every single word he was saying— every syllable, every breath, every hesitation— and probably enough information to gather a reasonable summary of exactly what we were discussing. 

I took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to say, Bunny.”

“I don’t want you to say anything, Richard.” He sighed, somehow calm again, like he had just come to the end of a rollercoaster with too many drops. “I just want you to forget about it.”

_ How could I? How on earth could I forget something like this?  _

“Can’t you just—” I wanted to help him.

“Please,” He breathed heavily. “Forget it.” 

“I’m only trying to understand.” 

He brought his eyes to meet mine for what felt like the first time during our whole conversation, and looked at me sternly. “You can’t understand.” He whispered harshly, almost through his teeth. “You didn’t know Henry during freshman year. You didn’t live with him. You didn’t go to Rome with him. There are just some things that you cannot possibly understand unless you’re  _ me. _ ” 

That, I understood. It was clear that no one could really understand what was going on in Bunny’s head apart from Bunny himself; and even he seemed to have trouble grasping his sense of self although he seemed so very sure of it on the surface. I understood because I felt that way myself, and sometimes still do. 

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, at last. 

He looked at me with those eyes that are now six feet underground. “Why do you think?” 

_ Because I’m the only one who wouldn’t tell anyone else.  _

There are a lot of things I wish I had said to Bunny whilst I had the chance, and even Henry. I thought that maybe I could’ve done something more to stop Henry from doing what he did, what  _ we  _ did… but it was like I had got roped up in an inescapable chain of events and things were always going to turn out the way they did whether any of us liked it or not. I don’t consider myself a believer in any kind of religion, but if anything felt predestined by some higher power; it was the fact that Bunny Corcoran ended up at the bottom of the ravine on that fateful day in April and Henry Winter was the one who pushed him. 

I didn’t respond. He knew what I was thinking and he was glad that I was thinking it, he was  _ right,  _ and I hated that he was right. I wouldn’t tell a soul, and that’s why I was the only person he ever told and I’m the only person still alive who knows. 

The sun had fully risen by this point, the direction of that same strip of light that was like a blade piercing through the room had changed and the atmosphere was suddenly darker. Perhaps the sun itself had slipped behind a cloud, and it was a sign to the both of us that we should stop talking.  _ Don’t say another word,  _ it was saying,  _ you’ll never speak of this again.  _ It was right, of course. I never spoke of it again, only when I went to subtly mention it to Henry that evening during dinner when no one else was listening. I had barely even gotten a word out but it was like he knew what I was about to say.

_ Don’t,  _ he said.  _ If you ever want to take note of something useful Bunny has said, do keep in mind when he told you to forget about it.  _ And, when I tried to protest—  _ Richard. It’s better this way.  _

And that was it. 

He walked into the room a mere few moments later, and neither of us heard his footsteps approaching so it was clear he had been waiting outside the door for quite some time listening to our conversation. He carefully opened the door and shut it delicately behind him, each squeak and crack of the hinges painfully apparent as Bunny and I had found ourselves in a puddle of silence. I didn’t want to make eye contact with either of them. I wanted to leave the room, jump out of the window if I had to. 

Henry was composed. He was fully dressed, clean shaven and awake as ever; the polar opposite of Bunny who was, by this point, slouched back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest and looking at Henry (standing by the counter, looking out the window) from the corner of his eye as if he didn’t owe him the graceful gesture of turning his head even slightly. I felt like I was going to pass out. 

“Morning, Henry.” Bunny said, almost passively— as if nothing had happened at all. 

I looked cautiously between the two of them. Henry didn’t turn around, and I didn’t move. I couldn’t move at all. 

“Good morning.” He said. “Say, the snow looks like it’s starting to melt.”


End file.
